by Gary Fincke
On the bottom shelf for things seldom touched, the honey has sat half eaten for six years, suspicious by now in the darkness formed by the contested will of the woman who died and left it there. Her children came only once, carrying away their tiny wants, then not coming at all until the windows were broken by vandals, the house ransacked by thieves. But just below its crystal surface, it waits unspoiled, outlasting litigation, the dark, protracted arguments of grudge. Forever fresh, it says, as if the dead might reacquire the desire for sweetness and rise from their graves with bread. And there, the latest intruder stirs it with one finger to test his lover’s trust. And when she extends her tongue, eyes open, that boy lays thick drops upon it, loving her as she swallows, her blouse already open, the beauty of her breasts so luminous he is afraid his hands might pass right through her.
Gary Fincke’s latest flash collection is The Corridors of Longing (Pelekinesis, 2022). He is co-editor of the annual anthology Best Microfiction.
